crowns and thrones
by Vanus Empty
Summary: Dean and Sam receive information on something Dean is looking for. Part thee of the Halo-verse. Post “Changing Channels.” Unmarked season five spoilers. AU.
1. send a heartbeat to

**Title:** crowns and thrones  
**Series:** "Supernatural"  
**Disclaimer:** Eric Kripke owns, yessir.  
**Warnings:** SPOILERS. (Takes place after Changing Channels.) Speculation, language, violence, blasphemy.  
**Character(s)/Pairing(s):** Dean, Sam, Castiel, Bobby, Lucifer – various others.  
**Rating:** PG-13/T.  
**Other:** ARRGGH. Keyboard mash. This chapter alone took for freaking ever to write. My muse? That bitch took off running. I had to _force _myself to write. This shit doesn't happen! So, if it sucks? Yea. Idk where the title came from. Part three of the Halo-verse. (It's the long one. Hehe.) I changed my pen name (formerly Vanus Empty) to a name I use for WoW, so don't go "who the fuck are you?" for those who have me author alerted.

-

"_Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you.__  
Relive the pictures that have come to pass.  
For now we stand alone.  
The world is lost and blown.  
And we are flesh and blood disintegrate,  
With no more to hate._"

—"**The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning****.**" Smashing Pumpkins.

-

"I'm telling you, Sammy," Dean says, putting the Impala into park in front of the motel, a newish looking white building complex with hopefully clean beds. He twists in his seat to stare at his younger brother. "We just need a nice, clean salt and burn, you know what I mean? No crazy, possibly possessed cars, no Gandhi, no Paris Hilton pagan gods, no little Anti-Christs who couldn't, no he-witches, no Trickster's who aren't. You, me, a batshit insane ghost, a gallon of gasoline, a thing of salt and a lighter. Like the good old days." He smirks when Sam's bitch face comes out.

"But, Dean," Sam begins in his 'you may be older, but I'm clearly the brains behind this duo' voice, "it's the _Apocalypse_. The End of Days. Revelations, Four Horseman, Lucifer, the whole nine yards. Ring a bell? Is a ghost really high up on the list of our priorities?"

Dean exhales. "Yea, Sam, I get that it's the end of the freakin' world and all, but we haven't heard a peep from Lucifer and, yea, sure, I'm as freaked out about that as you, but what can we do? Bobby hasn't found a thing, no other hunter has heard anything, and Cas hasn't found God despite having my necklace – still feeling naked over here, by the way!"

Sam smirks, but it dies quickly. "Yea, but," he cuts himself off, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he is in pain, then he sighs and nods. "Yea, yea. I guess you're right. But Dean," he shifts his weight to look at his brother more clearly, "if anything comes up, we're dropping this case."

Rolling his eyes, Dean exits the car, gently slamming it closed. "Whatever, Sam. It's _easy_, I'm tellin' ya. I already know who the ghost is, where it's buried, everything."

Sam halts as he got out of the car, half-way to shutting the door. His brow wrinkles. "You did research?"

Dean shifts his weight in a shrug. "I was bored. Couldn't sleep."

Shutting the door, Sam circles around the car to stand beside his brother. He looks at him in concern. "Bad dreams?" He asks.

"Well," Dean huffs, "if you don't count that old recurring dream about the fabric softener bear, actually no."

Sam's face screws up, like he was trying not to get angry. "Dean..."

"No, seriously." Dean faces Sam. "Honestly, ever since Lucifer pulled a _Prison Break_, I actually haven't had any nightmares. Weird, huh?" It was the truth, actually, save for the fabric softener bear nightmare. He hadn't had the one since before Hell.

"I guess so," Sam says, exhaling softly. It figures Dean's nightmares would transfer to Sam, one brother having reconciled his guilt while the other is unable to.

"Anyway," Dean begins, shrugging his shoulders. "Get our shit. I'll get us a room."

Huffing to himself, Sam nods. "Alright."

Dean grins. "Good," he says as he begins walking towards the office. "Bitch!"

Sam rolls his eyes and shouts to his brother, "Jerk!"

-

"So, tell me about this ghost," Sam says, leaning back in the chair of their shared hotel room. The room itself is spacious, with clean carpets and beds. He hasn't checked the bathroom yet, but he assumes it is clean. Hopefully.

"Simple. Woman in white," Dean explains, gesturing vaguely with his hands. "Woman's name was Melissa Ballard. Same story, different chick. Husband cheats, woman snaps, kills kids and self. Had three – ages nineteen months to four."

Sam grimaces in horror. No matter how many vengeful spirits they come across, a mother killing her children will always be near the top. "God," he sighs.

Dean's mouth quirks once, then he continues, "Husband is dead now, by the way." His smirk is something dark and new. "Testicular cancer that spread to his other major organs."

Try as he might, Sam cannot _not_ wince, just slightly. Dean grins, a flash of teeth. "Since Melissa died, three women – all who physically resembled the woman her husband cheated on her with – were killed in the house she died in."

"So," Sam cuts in, "just need to salt and burn her?"

"Uh-huh. Buried out in Saint... Joseph's?" Dean checks a piece of paper, then nods. "Yea, Saint Joseph's out on Tenth Street*."

Standing, Sam moves to grab his bag and begins to pull things out of it. "Great. Just wait until dark and burn her?"

"Yep," Dean drawls, falling back onto the bed, spread eagle. Sam observes him for a few moments, squinting. Dean's been strange lately, both a little more confident and insecure, like he isn't familiar with his own skin. The last time Dean had acted so odd is when he crawled out of his own grave.

He inhales and sits back down on the chair, absently turning a .45 over and over in his hands. He's more secretive, too. Is Dean, despite having said they'd give each other fresh starts, still not trusting Sam? Or are thoughts of their possible (_probable_) deaths by Armageddon hovering in his thoughts more than usual?

As if reading his thoughts, Dean's head lifts, eyes meeting Sam's. Sam shrugs at the unspoken question (_you okay?_). "Are you?" He returns.

Mouth in a line, Dean shakes his head honestly, leaning back onto the bed. "Our lives suck, man," he says, emphatically. Sam snorts in something other than mirth. Yea, their lives sucked.

"Hey, Dean?" He waits until Dean lifts his head again. "Wanna get something to eat?"

Dean grins, sees the olive branch. "Hell yea," he says.

-

By the time they get to the restaurant (a nice looking place that reads "Jenny's"), Dean is starving. It feels like he hasn't eaten in days, rather than hours. The waiter is a guy in his thirties with a tag that reads "Jack." They order and the guy departs quickly.

"So," Sam says as they wait.

"So," Dean echoes. The silence is long and awkward, their relationship still too bruised to truly connect any time soon.

In the time it takes for them to even come up with anything to talk about, Jack returns with their food and drinks, slipping away just as quickly as he comes in. Both men dig into their food enthusiastically. Halfway through their meal, Dean's cell phone goes off. He gets a brief dirty look from the old man in the booth near them, but he shrugs it off, opening the phone. "Yea?"

"Michael." The voice is both familiar and still unfamiliar. Raphael.

Dean's eyes widen and he coughs, clearing his throat. He turns away from Sam. "Ah, no. Dean, remember?" He asks into the phone. He can almost picture the look on Raphael's face – almost putting Sam's bitch face to shame.

"Dean, then."

Laughing wryly, he says into the phone, "Glad to see you figured out how to use a phone. Did you find what I asked you to find?" He asks him. In the corner of his eye, he can see Sam looking curiously at him.

There's a sigh on the other end. "No, I haven't, but I have narrowed the search down to North America – specifically, Kansas, I believe it's called."

There's a terrible feeling that begins to well up inside of Dean. "Kansas," he repeats numbly.

"This is familiar to you?"

Dean nods, then remembers Raphael can't see it. "Yea. Yea, I think I know where it is." He hopes it isn't, though. All roads lead back to Lawrence.

Raphael is silent for a few moments, then there is a rustle like he's nodding. "I see. Is there anything else you require?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he mutters, "Unless you can call your younger brother out of hiding, no."

"Younger brother?"

"Yea. The one that went missing after I left," he says. Sees Sam frown at him suspiciously.

There was an enlightened sound from Raphael. "Gabriel. You've seen him."

Dean chews on his lips. "I think he's ready to pull his head out of his ass and head home."

"You speak in riddles. ...You're not alone, are you." It's not a question, but Dean answers anyway.

"Yea, listen. Keep doing what you're doing and tell your brother to stop being a child. Drop my name if you have to. He's not a kid and he needs to stop acting like one." Dean pauses and can almost see Raphael nod. "Anyway, gotta go. Bye." He hangs up before Raphael can respond.

Sam leans forwards, brow and mouth frowning in a single motion. "Who was that?" He asks.

Dean barely manages to not grimace. "A guy I met while we weren't together," he explains, almost hesitant. He should have thought this would have come up. He just didn't expected it so soon. His two lives are beginning to crossover, if only slightly. "I met him on a hunt – with Cas," he adds, because it's the truth.

"You were on a hunt with Castiel?" Sam asks, expression somewhere between guilt and envy.

"Ah, just the one," Dean says, waving his hand in a flippant motion. "Whole waste of time. Not only did nothing pan out, Cas has no idea how to _lie_. It's a little depressing. Actually told the cops the truth – demons and all."

Sam's mouth pulls into a reluctant grin.

They don't like to talk about those weeks Sam and Dean were separated, only giving out the barest details – Lucifer's talk with Sam, the hunters attacking him, vague mentions of Dean's hunts. Dean had ranted for ten minutes when Sam had told him that he had burned every single one of his ID cards. ("_Those things don't grow on trees, Sam!_")

When they finish eating, Dean pays and they leave, Dean's thoughts miles away.

-

At three in the morning (when no one in their right mind is awake), Sam and Dean begin to dig up Melissa Ballard's grave. Sam takes a moment to admire the headstone – elegant in it's simplicity. However, he finds it appropriate that "loving wife, loving mother" is not on the stone.

"Come on, Sam, put your back into it," Dean gripes beside him, tossing a pile of dirt to the side with ease.

Sam rolls his eyes and continues to dig. Dean's the one who is supposed to be glancing around, making sure Melissa's ghost isn't about to bash their skulls in. So far, not a peep from Melissa. The only sound is the wind rustling the trees and insects making little insect noises.

However, Murphy's Law dictates that what can go wrong, will go wrong. This is also called the Winchester Fact of Life.

Sure enough, Sam hears Dean grunt in pain and sees him hit the ground just as their shovels scrape the lid of the coffin. His head snaps up and he sees a woman who is nearly an entire foot shorter than Sam standing beside Dean, glaring at him.

Her voice has an almost echo-like quality when she speaks. "What are you doing?" She demands.

Dean doesn't answer, only cocks the shotgun and shoots her, causing her image to dissipate in a spray of rock salt. "And the guest of honor appears," Dean snarks. Then he says, "Sam, hurry the Hell up. I've got her."

Sam nods, though he knows Dean isn't paying attention to him. He hastily finishes digging and pries the lid of Melissa's coffin open. He barely has time to salt her whithered corpse before he sees Dean go flying through the air, landing on the ground several meters away with a sickening pop, Dean's yell of agony following after.

"Dean!" He yells, searching for Dean's shotgun. He finds it beside the grave bed and lifts it, shooting Melissa with the rock salt again. Sam turns, searching for his brother.

Dean's carefully lifting himself up, shoulder obviously dislocated. His face is pale with pain. "Hurry up, damn it, Sam!" He chokes out.

"Yea," Sam gasps and grabs the gasoline, hauling himself out of the grave. He pours the gasoline onto the salted body and throws down a lit match with it. The fire catches and soon the entire body is in flames. The nearly appeared Melissa, too, bursts into flames, her scream dying before it begins.

There's a moment of stunned silence before Sam releases an explosive breath, stepping away from the fire and moving towards Dean. His brother nods, silent in his request for his shoulder to be popped back into place. Sam places his hand in position and, when Dean grits his teeth, realigns it back into the socket. Dean's moan of pain is stifled, then he breathes a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, Sam," Dean says.

Sam nods and helps Dean stand before moving to grab their things, shovels, gasoline can and salt. Dean is carefully cradling his arm, face still pained. "Come on," Sam says, nodding towards where Dean had parked the Impala. "Let's get out of here."

Dean mumbles something. Sam pauses and glances back at him. "What was that?"

"I said," Dean growls, "I hate ghosts."

Sam tries not to smirk. "You're the one who suggested this."

Dean snarls something else at him, then, "Don't remind me!"

-

Damage report: one dislocated shoulder, one scraped palm, one bruised forehead. Sam makes Dean wear a sling for a few days and drives the Impala himself. Dean is Unamused.

"So, now what?" Sam asks, twenty minutes out of town. "Head to Bobby's, see how he's doing?"

Dean shrugs with his good shoulder, absently tapping in time to the beat of "Some Kind of Monster." After a moment, he says, "No. Head to Kansas. Lawrence."

Sam freezes in the drivers seat, frowning. He looks at Dean. Dean is pointedly _not_ looking at Sam. "This about what that guy back in the diner said? The one you were on the phone with?"

"Yea." Dean sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. "I asked him to look for something for me. He says it might be in Kansas."

"But why Lawrence?"

"When is it never _not_ Lawrence?" Dean returns.

Sam scrunches his face up for a moment, then nods. "Point."

"Not gonna ask what I asked him to look for?" Dean asks.

"Would you tell me if I asked?"

Dean sighs. "Well. No. I don't... I don't wanna say. Not yet. Not unless it's there. If it's there," his brother moves restlessly, like the thought that it's not there would tear him apart, "I'll explain everything." When Sam shoots his brother a look, his face is tired – resigned. "_Everything_," he repeats, like there is something significant about it.

"Alright," Sam says slowly. The look his brother sends him is part grateful for not pushing, part suspicious for him not pushing.

The drive to Lawrence is long, conversation sparse – the beat of Metallica thrumming within the car.

-

Er. ER. Yea. Just needed to get this retarded chapter out of the way. Everything will come easier now that I'm getting the ball rolling. I just needed to get Sam and Dean's entrance out of the way. _I have this scene in my head and I want to write it __**so**__**bad**__, _so I'm gonna hurry the hell up while I still have some inspiration going! The muse has been chained to me – that bitch isn't going anywhere!

Saint Joseph's on Tenth Street*: I think this is actually a parking lot in my city, where I go to school. Joseph is also my older brother's name. The only member of my family I like.


	2. the void that cries through you

**Title:** crowns and thrones  
**Series:** "Supernatural"  
**Disclaimer:** Eric Kripke owns, yessir.  
**Warnings:** SPOILERS. (Takes place after Changing Channels.) Speculation, language, violence, blasphemy.  
**Character(s)/Pairing(s):** Dean, Sam, Castiel, Bobby, Lucifer – various others.  
**Rating:** PG-13/T.  
**Other:** Haha. Right. Um. If you know me on LJ, you'll know my computer basically died on me. I had blue screen of death and had no choice but to wipe my computer. I – lost – everything. Absolutely everything I have ever written or vidded. This was written from memory. I could not recreate the masterpiece (haha) that I had originally written, so this is considerably less than what it used to be. Sorry, but beggars can't be choosers.

-

"_Some need diamonds, some need fireworks._

_Some need cards, some need—_

_Some need (shattered glass) lining their clothes._

_All I need is, all I need is..._"

—"**Farewell Ride (Subtle Remix)**." Beck.

-

Jenny should have been so surprised to see the monster of a black car pull up to her drive way in Lawrence, Kansas. Ever since that.. _thing_ showed up, she has always expected one or both of the men who had saved her family to appear at her (their?) doorstep. So when both brothers exit the car, she opens the front door, watching them warily as they approach.

Dean – the older one, the blond one – looks a little battered, like he had gotten into a fight recently. His right arm is even in a sling. He offers her a short smile. "Um, I don't know if you remember us, but..."

She cuts in, "Dean. Sam." She nods to Sam, who, impossibly, looks like he grew again. "Of course I remember you," Jenny tells them. "Not every day your house gets possessed.

Dean's face tightens and she remembers, belatedly, that one of the spirits in her house was their mother who died in the house well over twenty years ago. He speaks before she can amend her statement. "Yea. Speaking of, anything weird going on?"

"You mean the thing in my back yard?" Jenny asks.

Sam's looking curious now, she notes. She has a sinking feeling only Dean knows what's going on. His face shifts, like he's trying to hide something. She only can recognize it because Sari's starting to attempt to lie to her these days. _Teenagers_, she thinks.

"Yea," Dean breathes and steps forwards. Pauses on the doorstep. "Hey, Sam? Could you stay here for a minute?"

"But, Dean—"

Dean interrupts. "Please, Sam."

Sam sighs sharply, giving his brother a distinctly nasty look, but concedes. "Fine," he bites out. He crosses his arms over his chest, like he has to restrain himself from smacking his older brother. Jenny almost smiles because this is the look Sari gets whenever Ritchie does something stupid, or something she doesn't like. She's glad it's early and a weekday – her kids are in school.

Jenny lets Dean into the house and leads him to the back door. She sees him look around the living room wistfully and her heart aches for him. He's such a nice guy – he really shouldn't have had to go through his mother's death, especially at an early age.

Dean halts at the threshold of her back door when they reach it. She stands just outside and to the left, leaving room for Dean to exit, but he doesn't. He just stares. She has to admit, it's an impressive sight.

It's a tree – a huge one, for that matter. The branches reach out, crawling towards the sky. The trunk is thick and sturdy – she suspects it could easily remain rooted if there is ever a tornado. Or, you know, a nuclear bomb.

"Shit," Dean whispers.

"Yea." Jenny shifts her hips nervously. "I woke up one morning and it was there. I mean, it _grew over night_, Dean. This thing looks like it's over a hundred years old."

Finally, Dean manages to move, feet carrying him towards the tree. "Holy shit," he says, reaching out with his good hand, pressing the palm to the bark, his expression unreadable. His eyes slip out of focus like he's looking beyond the tree.

"What is it, Dean?" She asks after several heartbeats.

"Something." Dean licks his lips and retracts his hand, letting it fall to his side. "And nothing. It's not here. Not anymore." His face has fallen with disappointment when he turns his back to the massive tree, walking towards her.

"I need you to answer me, Jenny. Did anyone come here since the tree's been here? Been interested in the tree?" He asks, eyes meeting hers.

Jenny shakes her head. "I don't know. I haven't seen anyone. Honestly, I've been avoiding it. It makes me really nervous," she says.

With a sigh, Dean hangs his head for a moment, then nods to her. "It's okay. It's not your fault." He sighs again, expression heavy with disappointment. "It's just a tree, Jenny," he explains gently, glancing back at it. "A weird, big tree, but just a tree."

Dean meets her eyes again as he finishes, "It's safe. No one's gonna come back. Nothing's gonna happen with it." His mouth smiles for her, though his eyes aren't. They're shadowed in ways that they weren't three and a half years ago. "I swear."

Despite herself, Jenny feels something inside of her ease at his words. "You're sure? Because, my kids..."

"Just a tree," he repeats in a tone she suspects he uses for hysterical victims.

"Just a tree," she echoes and smiles in relief.

-

Sam waits for Dean to get into the car before he asks, "Well?"

"It was nothing," Dean says, slumped in his seat. He sighs heavily. "The information was wrong. The thing in Jenny's backyard was just a prank from some neighborhood kids," he tells him.

"What was it?"

"Fake voodoo shit, Sammy. Harmless and meaningless. Apparently Jenny's daughter made a few enemies with the girls at the school she goes to. They thought it'd be fun to play a prank on her." The words come without hesitation, but Sam suspects it's not the truth. However, after last year, he supposes Dean is entitled to his secrets.

"So, now what?"

Dean shrugs. "Now, I guess we do what you wanted to do before. Head to Bobby's."

As Sam pulls out of Jenny's drive way, he asks Dean, "You ever gonna tell me what it is you're looking for?"

"It's something that could help us with fighting Lucifer," Dean tells him, his voice quiet and hesitant. Sam hates it when his brother sounds like that.

"The Colt?"

"Not the Colt. Somethin' else." Dean leans his head back against the seat. He's acting a little skittish, like a kid who _has_ to go to the dentist, but doesn't want to. "Sort of a plan B. Or H, I guess."

Sam blinks. "You think it'll work, whatever it is?"

Vaguely, Dean shrugs. "Maybe. Maybe not. But whatever, it doesn't matter. It wasn't there. There's no leads. It's more missing than the friggin' Colt."

"What about that guy? Could he have more information on it?"

Dean surprises Sam by the emotion, by the anger in his voice. "He can't help," he snaps. "I'm lucky he even fuckin' narrowed the field down. It's like finding a needle in a haystack. Or a tree in a forest. Whatever."

Sam frowns. "You okay, Dean?"

"I'm _fine_, Sam. Don't worry about me." Dean tosses Sam a smirk.

"Really?"

"Fuck, Sam. Yes, really. Now, drive to Bobby's."

-

They make it to Bobby's early in the morning. Bobby lets them in, grumbling under his breath as he wheels into the kitchen. "I made breakfast – have at it."

Sam smiles at Bobby. "Thanks."

"Yea, thanks, Bobby," Dean says as he helps himself to a serving of eggs and corned beef hash. He accepts a mug of coffee from Bobby. "So, how you been?" He asks quietly when Sam heads into the kitchen for food, following Bobby out into the living room.

Bobby shrugs. "Eh. Since your little pep talk, I've put some effort into making the best of it. Call me general Singer."

Dean grins. "You're awesome, Bobby."

"Of course." Bobby settles at the table with Dean, Sam joining them shortly after. "So, tell me. Anything interesting happen?"

"Nothing." Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. "We had a woman in white burning a little while ago. She got Dean," he nods at Dean's injured shoulder, "but that's it. Stopped in Lawrence—"

"Why the Hell would you go to Kansas?" Bobby breaks in, frowning. He looks from Sam to Dean.

Dean shakes his head. "False lead on the Colt," he says. Sam shoots him a look, a frown on his mouth, but Dean meets his gaze. _I don't want Bobby knowin'_, the look says. The bitch face is out, but Sam nods just enough for Dean to see.

Bobby grunts and takes a sip of coffee.

-

Dean catches Hell from Sam ten minutes later in the middle of the junk yard.

"What the hell is going on, Dean?" Sam demands, face tight.

"Sam—"

"No, Dean! Equals, remember? Blank slate? No more lies? Ring a bell?"

"Sam."

"Dean! You know what this reminds me of? Ruby and I." Old guilt taints his words, but Sam meets Dean's eyes.

Dean grits his teeth. "It's not like I'm going around drinkin' _demon blood_."

It's a low blow and Sam flinches like he's been struck, but he recovers swiftly. "No, but you're lying to me. You're lying to Bobby." He shakes his head. "I can't take the moral high road, but at least practice what you preach." He leaves as Dean gapes after him.

Yea, Dean's _fucked_.

* * *

...yea. I have no idea, either. I was poked and pressured and I finally got it out. I caved into peer pressure. It's terrible, but, really. You asked for it. (That means you, SeraphimXII!) Stayed tuned for new fic (sort of) that I'm writing on the side, which is a series of "AU of the Halo-verse," also known as the "little drabbles that really couldn't." Or, easier, alternate versions of certain scenes that I haven't written yet.

As for CaT, this is short and shitty, but expect a triple size chapter that ACTUALLY HAS PLOT soon. I'm pushing ahead, like, viciously.


End file.
